


Out of the Spotlight

by SideStepping



Series: Broken Keys (On Indefinite Hiatus) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Music, musical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideStepping/pseuds/SideStepping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin - living life on the run, hunted for his magic. He comes to a little know town just hoping to hide for a while.<br/>Arthur - semi-famous singer, disgraced after false stories are leaked to the press. He heads away to keep out of the public's eye.<br/>Gwen - writer and musician. She's worked tirelessly on her musical and could dream of nothing more than to see it preformed.<br/>Morgana - The singer with a secret. She just wants to know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> This story came out of me unintentionally composing in my head and being completely dead in the world of writing - there's nothing like fanfiction to spark the imagination!
> 
> With thanks to my best friend Dee for the faster than light read through and review - you are incredible! 
> 
> That being said, any mistakes are solely my own. 
> 
> Also appears on FF.net under the pen name megsimo. I am she!

**~ ~ ~**

Merlin left his flat at a run and clattered down the aluminium fire escape steps on the side of the building. It was still very early in the morning, the last shadows of night still clinging on as the sun broke over the city, and the morning traffic had not yet reached its peak – nor were there the number of people around as there would be later. Merlin hadn't wanted to leave – the flat had almost begun to feel like _home_ in the brief three months of peace and solitude before he noticed the black car following him to work and got the anonymous phone calls. That was when he knew they had caught up with him again, and it was time to move on. Again.

He hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders and glanced left and right as he reached the end of the alley outside the block of flats.

Cars sped past at uneven intervals and Merlin couldn't see the familiar black SUV so he set off at an uncertain jog up the road to the station. People walking past him on the pavements didn't spare him a second glance as they walked, slouched, heads down, lost in the half-asleep coffee fuelled lives they possessed. Merlin mimicked them, glancing up every now and then to see if there was any sign of the black car. Only when he was four streets away from his own, and still no sign of the car did he slow down from the jog and walk the last part of the hill up to the station.

The early morning commuters hung around on the platform, keeping to themselves or subconsciously sipping cardboard cups of coffee. Merlin idly kicked a couple of stones around with his foot as he sat on the hard plastic station bench and waited for the train. He intended to go to London, to see his mum, Hunith, for one last time before he went away. He was sick of running. Best to head away – far away – and go into hiding. Permanently.

It had been stupid, he knew know, probably had known all along, to stay in one place for so long. He'd grown to comfortable, gotten into a routine and … grown slack. That's when they'd almost caught him – late home one night about a week ago, drunk, unaware.

The barely healed wound over his ribcage tingled at the thought.

He just wasn't used to it – and that was what made him easy to target when he got settled. It was the rule he'd learnt to live by. Don't get settled. You won't want to leave.

That was why it had taken him so long to get moving. After any other attack he'd have been gone before morning but because he'd let himself get so comfortable, it had been too hard to move on.

But he had to.

Always moving on. Always running.

His dad had taught him from a young age that people would want to use him, capture him, torture him, _test_ him and his _talent_. Ever since his parents had woken one morning to find his cot floating near the ceiling, they'd realised there son was no normal child.

Sometimes Merlin saw his magic as something good but more often than not, it was a curse – forcing him to live a life on the run.

He hated running.

“ _Merlin, Merlin! Son, they're hear – get out, go, do what I told you. Get away, run and don't look back.” Merlin's father, Balinor, smashed his way into the living room, intruding on Merlin's movie. The look of terror on his father's face was one Merlin would never forget._

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose and then hastily wiped away the drop of moisture that had formed in the corner of his eye. He'd been sixteen when he'd gone on the run and now, eight years on, he liked to think himself something of a natural at it. Able to blend in with a crowd, fake passports, slide his way into anyone's good books with a small, bright smile and nick a few notes out of an unguarded wallet without a moment's thought.

This wasn't what he'd thought he would become.

All that time when his parents, his father especially, had drilled into him what he must do if 'they' came, he'd just presumed it would never happen, or that it would blow over in a couple of months and he'd be able to go home. He hadn't realised he'd end up eating out of rubbish bins, that he'd sleep curled on a street corner, that he'd hardly ever see his mum because she was constantly watched, that he'd never never see his father again.

He kicked the pebble away with more vehemence than was necessary and it skittered across the platform before dropping over the edge and onto the track. People looked up at the noise and then returned to whatever they were doing.

With a sigh of relief, Merlin caught sight of the train, coming round the bend in the track ahead and slowing down to pull into the station. Going to see his mum was risky, he knew that – she was constantly watched because Merlin's pursuers knew he wanted to go back to her – but he _had_ to. If only because this may be the last time he ever could. Over the years, he'd built up a number of methods of getting into his mum's house without alerting the watchful eyes. Attempts to arrange a meeting with his mum outside of the house were thwarted because Hunith was tailed closely and she'd never learnt to blend in like Merlin had. She'd never thought she would have had to, what with Balinor around. Balinor would have kept her safe. Neither of Merlin, nor Hunith had ever thought Balinor would, _could_ , die. So it was up to Merlin to keep his mother safe, and the best way to do that was to stay away. Both he and Hunith knew how much danger they were both put in by Merlin's visits and although it hurt – over the years he'd had to cut down how many times he went to see her. Too many close shaves. Too many near misses. She was better off without him.

The train drew to a stop with a hiss of brakes and a slight screech of wheels on track. People got up off their seats and headed for the doors, waiting for them to open. Merlin followed suit and waited in the queue for the nearest door as passenger disembarked.

He glanced around, feigning an idle gaze, as he scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary.

That was when he saw the man.

He was stood near the end of the platform, leaning against the station wall, as if waiting for the queue in front of him to move onto the train. But Merlin could see the sharp, intensity of his gaze as his eyes swept the platform, searching for something – or some _one_. And if that wasn't a gun under his dark leather jacket, then Merlin didn't have magic.

His heart rising in his throat, Merlin bent down to fiddle with his shoelace. When he glanced up again the man was moving, coming his way.

_Do something Merlin. Use magic._

His father's voice rang in his head, cutting through Merlin's momentary panic.

He straightened up, digging into his pocket for the cheap pay-as-you-go and turned his body away from the people getting on the train as if trying to get some privacy for his call. As he turned away his eyes glowed the fiery bright gold and he caught hold of a stand of magic and twisted it and turned it into himself, walking down the platform, heading for the next door of the train. The illusion was good – Merlin noticed he always performed magic better when he was under pressure – and to Merlin's relief, the man caught sight of the illusion and headed that way, stopping right next to the real Merlin.

“Yeah I've got eyes on him, dark hair, pale skin, definitely him.” Merlin could see the man talking into a cell phone.

“He's getting on the 6.35 to London – what d'you want me to do?”

Merlin turned his back on the man even more and scanned the area for an escape route whilst still listening in on the conversation.

“You're outside?”

Merlin's breath caught in his throat and he started to slowly move away. He couldn't go far though, he didn't have enough strength to project the illusion that far.

“He's getting on board – should I too?”

Merlin sent to projection of himself onto the train then let it drop before hastily moving away.

There were more of them outside. That meant he couldn't leave the station.

The only other option was to catch another train. There were two, waiting on platforms the far side of the station and Merlin walked towards the stairs for the bridge over the tracks, catching sight, out of the corner of his eye, of the man boarding the train.

He didn't have long.

As soon as he was out of sight of the platform he broke into a run, reaching the top of the steps and haring along the length of the bridge.

He thought he heard shouts from the platform but he couldn't be sure if that was real or just his fear tricking him. A board over head told him one of the trains was leaving in three minutes. It was heading up north to Manchester.

Merlin scrambled down the stairs on the far side of the bridge and onto the platform where the train was waiting. He caught a glimpse of the London train platform and saw several men converging on the train. Realising a pent up breath he got on board the Manchester train and tucked himself away in the corner of the carriage.

Through the far window he could see men heading for the stairs.

_Hurry up. Hurry up and leave. Please. Come on!_

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and willing time to go faster. How long did he have? A minute? Thirty seconds?

On the far platform he could see a solitary man, standing apart from the crowd, scanning the station with a stare that seemed to do more than just _look_. As his gaze swept along the length of Merlin's train, Merlin felt a strange prickly sensation wash over him. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from gasping. As he watched, the man beckoned some other men over and then pointed at the train. He was smiling a grim, tight smile.

He had combed back brown hair and his thin, pointed, rat-like visage was one Merlin had never seen before and yet Merlin couldn't help but feel in fear of him. From the prickly sensation Merlin guessed, or rather _dreaded_ that he had magic.

How could he escape another sorcerer?

The doors of the train closed with a satisfying hiss and _thump_. Merlin crossed his fingers and closed his eyes, wishing with every part of his body for the train to move.

And it did.

Merlin let loose an audible gasp as the train moved away and sank back in his seat, relief washing over him. He'd done it again. Managed it. Escaped.

He'd had more luck than any person really deserved he reasoned. He needed to work harder to keep away from these people.

With a twinge of regret he realised this had put an end to any plans he could have had for visiting his mum. He'd go to Manchester, go to the airport and get out of the country.

He glanced out of the window one last time and saw the station disappearing behind him. Right at the end of the platform though, was the man – the sorcerer. His smile had dropped and his gaze was cold.

Shivering slightly, Merlin curled round in his seat and let the motion of the train rock him to sleep.

**~ ~ ~**

Arthur didn't like the way the waitress was smiling at him. It was far too familiar. If someone recognised him here that would be the end of it. This town was practically the last place on earth anyone famous would come. Tucked right up in the corner of northern England – it didn't even have a decent _cinema._ And come off it, Arthur had only been top of the charts once. It was hardly like people were coming up to him on the streets _all_ the time. He ducked his head, breaking the awkward eye contact with the waitress. His friend Gwen said that as long as he kept his head down and remained inconspicuous then no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, Arthur didn't do inconspicuous very well – at least not well enough to avoid the attention of the waitress. She was now leaning against the counter, twirling a loose curl of her blonde hair round her finger and smiling. Too much.

The cafe was in the centre of town but even its prime location didn't add much to the experience. Arthur tipped back the last of his cold coffee and tried not to grimace too much. He decided if he was going to stay here long, he was going to have to find a decent coffee place. He wouldn't survive otherwise.

It had all been very last-minute, Arthur reflected glumly. His name had been in the press too much, he'd suffered too many accusing looks from his father, Uther, and suggestions of evenings together to 'sort things out'. He'd needed to get out.

Not that any of the rumours had any truth to them. The whole this was a complete knot of lies and no one, not even his own father, believed Arthur had done nothing wrong.

So he'd got away, locked up his flat, packed up the bear minimum he needed and, leaving an apologetic note for his father with something about a holiday, had headed up north. All he wanted to do was drop off the radar for a while and let things settle down a little. And then get himself a new agent.

It had all been his agent, Morgause's, fault and then she'd gone and played the victim. Suddenly, Arthur had been all over the news and he'd had journalists camped on his doorstep. Another reason for him not to be recognised here. He'd seen enough pictures of himself recently.

Not that these stories and rumours seemed to put off the waitress and Arthur noticed she was now edging her way, attempting subtlety but failing dramatically, towards his table.

Abruptly, Arthur got to his feet and headed for the exit.

“Arthur Pendragon?” He stopped at the sound of his name and then cursed himself for doing so. “It is you isn't it!”

He turned slowly to face the waitress.

“You have no idea how often people make that mistake,” he said, feigning annoyance, trying not to notice how a middle-aged woman at a nearby table was now shooting him daggers.

“Oh.” The waitress' face fell. “You're not him then?”

“Not him.” Arthur replied, raising his hands in a mock apology.

“Right …” The waitress tilted her head towards the counter. “Tip?”

Arthur tried not to sigh impatiently and dug in his pocket for some spare change. Tossing it into the jar, he got out of the cafe as fast as he could.

The semi-detached he now rented on the outskirts of town was far from anything he was used to but it was the only thing Gwen had been able to find in a hurry.

He silently thanked the stars for Gwen. He wouldn't have been able to this without her. They'd been friends for years and she alone had believed Arthur when he told her the accusations weren't true. She was the one who'd suggested he come up north to her town and that he should get away from the media's attention.

He passed a newsagents on his way up the street and tried in vain to banish the sick feeling in his stomach at the sight of his face over the front covers. He was surprised that the press weren't here in the town already.

His father had managed to dismiss any legal procedures Arthur might have ended up in after Morgause's story had gone to the press but that didn't stop Uther Pendragon from looking upon his son with such _disappointment_. It didn't stop the media from having a field day with the story either. If he closed his eyes, Arthur could almost hear his father's words in his head.

“ _What this will do to my career I do not know.”_

It was that that made things clear to Arthur, that his father did not care about him, only about his political career and that decided his choice to leave.

Uther Pendragon was right at the top. The head of the food chain – probably second only to the prime minister and the Queen. The amount of power his father held still awed Arthur at times. Not that Arthur would want to be his father. Many people said power did funny things to people and Arthur agreed. Over the years, as his career had excelled, Uther had found even less time for his son. Then Arthur had started his career as a singer and things had _really_ gone downhill. It just wasn't a _suitable_ career, Uther had said. But Arthur had made up his mind a long time ago that he didn't need his father's approval any more. He wasn't the pet dog he had been when he was younger – always begging for praise and then slowly realising his father had none for him. He'd not been top in school. He'd preferred music to sport and then crashed out of college after a month to start up a band with his mates. Oh, Uther had been angry. Very angry.

It wasn't Arthur's fault he wasn't the crowning jewel in his father's crown. More the speck of dust that need to be flicked away. More than once Arthur had debated a name change.

However, even though Arthur kept up the facade of bravado and not caring a bit what his father thought of him – he couldn't ignore the part of Uther's expression that appeared almost _regretful_ when he looked upon his son.

Yet another reason to get away.

He reached his house and had to jiggle the key in the lock before the door finally clicked open.

Stooping down he scooped up a folded piece of paper which had obviously been pushed through the letter box in a hurry if its crumpled state was anything to go by. Arthur squeezed his way down the narrow hallway past boxes of his as of yet, unpacked belongings. He paused in the door of the kitchen to read the note.

_Arthur! I finished it! I came to tell you but you were out – I need you to come round RIGHT NOW and go through it with me. - Gwen x_

Arthur allowed a brief smile to touch his lips. Gwen was a part time writer and musician and had recently been working on a musical. She tried to pretend it didn't mean that much to her but if the fact she'd been awake at three in the morning, working on it, when Arthur called in a panic after the Morgause incident, Arthur guessed it meant a whole lot more to her than she let on. His only reservation was – she wanted to produce it and she wanted Arthur in it.

He'd tried, more than once, to avert any stray comments about him taking part in it but Gwen had feigned confusion and pretended she didn't know what he was talking about. She knew, as well as Arthur did that had couldn't do the stage work. He just couldn't. Not with the press hounding his every footstep and everyone thinking he'd been abusing his agent. So unless Gwen wanted a one man show with zero audience, she better leave him out of it because no one was going to act with him. And no one was going to watch him.

As he pondered his options he noticed the bottom of the piece of paper was still folded over and, unfolding it he read another line of text.

_And I know you won't want to come but you PROMISED._

And, unfortunately for Arthur – that much was true.

With a sigh, he grabbed an apple from the bowl in the kitchen and headed outside once again.

**~ ~ ~**

Merlin rose out of the depths of slumber only to pay the ticket inspector and then he drifted back off. The shock of almost being caught had worn off now and he just felt _tired_. Tired from weeks, _years_ of not being able to sleep because he was too worried about what the future might hold. The initial relief of having gotten away allowed him to sleep for a little while – but never long enough, never well enough for him to shake of the continual shroud of fatigue that entombed his life.

Towards the end of the journey, he shook himself away and checked – almost instinctively – that he still had his backpack. His life was packed inside that backpack. The things he couldn't possibly live without. Anything else just got cast aside and replaced later. His stomach growled in protest at having gone so long without food. Merlin ignored it, he needed all his money for the flight and anyway, he'd gone longer without food before. Eighteen hours was no great time really.

But then, his eyes alighted on a woman's handbag. The woman in question was sat a few rows in front of him and had the bag open beside her – she had her wallet open. Merlin felt he had to do it more because it was an utter travesty in terms of pickpocketing if he missed an opportunity like this.

He could see the notes, tucked away slightly in the wallet and it was probably his growling stomach that decided him. He got up.

The woman had her body angled towards the window and her earphones in. She had long golden hair which was curled and fell over her shoulders in the bronze cascade. Her nails were polished and sculpted perfectly and her outfit just screamed _designer_. Merlin reasoned she wouldn't miss the money.

Just as he reached the seat, he pretended to stumble, and as he went down, he wound his fingers round the handle of the bag and pulled it down with him.

The money was tucked away up his sleeve before he'd even stood up. The woman gave the smallest squeak of surprise as Merlin tumbled over next to her.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Merlin blustered slightly as he handed he back her bag. “I'm so sorry.”

She recoiled slightly at the sight of his tatty jacket and stained jeans.

“That's fine,” she said suspiciously, dragging her bag slightly closer to her.

“Sorry.” Merlin flashed her a smile – one of those winning smiles that always worked. Genuine, but shy. Her expression softened almost immediately.

“It's alright,” she said, “honestly.”

Merlin nodded his thanks and started to walk away – the refreshment trolley calling his name. However as he turned she caught hold of him and her nails – _claws –_ dug into his arm.

“I didn't catch your name,” she said, smiling sweetly. Too sweetly.

_Stop being paranoid, Merlin._

“It's Merlin,” he replied, attempting to twist his arm out of her grip.

“Sophia,” she replied and twisted his arm over to scrawl a number on the inside of his hand. “Call me.”

As soon as she was done, Merlin snatched his arm out of her grip. He tried to look thankful that he was getting her attention rather than down right _freaked out_. People just didn't, weren't _meant to_ , notice him. He nodded his thanks and then turned away and hurriedly made his way down the carriage. At the end by the door, he looked back. She was still looking at him. Still smiling.

He left the carriage and didn't go back. He spent the rest of the journey trying to sleep but unable to shift the unease that had settled on him.

It could be nothing, he reasoned to himself. She could just be another girl who fell head-over-heels for any guy who smiled her. But Merlin couldn't quite convince himself of that. This paranoia, this feeling of suspicion for anything out of the ordinary – it came with his life. He couldn't let his guard down because any mistake could mean _them_ arriving on his doorstep. He _had_ to be suspicious of everyone because _anyone_ could be his enemy.

And he hated having to live that way.

The train slid to a stop in the station and Merlin felt relieved at the sight of the hustle and bustle going on outside the train doors. He liked crowds. He could get lost in them. Just be another face among the throng.

As he waited for the doors to open he glanced outside onto the platform, checking for anything out of the ordinary. He was good at that – over the years he'd grown used to spotting the small things. Whether it was the way someone walked, how they dressed, how they reacted to certain things – he found himself able to tell a lot about someone's character from just looking. Nothing caught his attention as he surveyed the platform and so he reasoned that _they_ hadn't managed to follow him this far. Or, at least, hadn't caught up with him yet.

He paused out on the platform and looked around until he saw a cafe. He hadn't spent the money on the train – he'd been too on edge from his encounter with Sophia – and now his stomach was making even louder protests. Inside the cafe the smell of coffee and chocolate sent his feeling of hunger into haywire mode and it was all he could do not to push his way right to the front of the queue and demand every single item the cafe had on offer.

Four minutes later he sat himself down with a sandwich, a cup of coffee and two bags of crisps. As he ate a drank, he watched the various people in the cafe. Some were reading, some were working on iPads or laptops and a rather noisy group of girls in the corner were taking selfies of themselves on an iPhone. Their lives almost … _amused_ Merlin. So trouble-free, so ridiculously ignorant of what was going on in the rest of the world and not noticing so many things that passed them by. They denied his world existed, or at least, ignored it. And how could they ever understand really? In lives so _mundane_. In lives without magic. Oh yes, his magic was a curse – but it was a beautiful, powerful thing too, so _alive_.

His stomach full and his hunger satisfied he got up and left the cafe, thinking about how he needed to get the the airport, how much money he would need, where he would go … he almost walked right into Sophia.

He heard her voice before he registered her presence and stopped just short of the end of a building, concealed by the wall but still able to see Sophia handing a small suitcase over to another man and adjusting a few loose curls of her hair at the same time.

“What time does my flight leave?” she asked snappishly as the man, presumably a chauffeur, loaded her bag onto a trolley.

“Um, 3.42, I think,” he replied. Merlin noticed how he stooped, as if constantly bowing in Sophia's presence.

“And are your men at the airport? I don't want any …” Her voice was drowned out by a loud announcement over the PA system and Merlin didn't catch the rest of what she said but he saw the man nodding in response.

 _Your men_ … could it be them? Could Sophia be tied up in the people who were looking for Merlin?

It seemed more likely by the second and as Merlin leaned back against the wall, he let out a shaking breath. He couldn't go to the airport.

Sohpia and her man had moved away and so, tightening the straps of his backpack, Merlin headed towards the exit, thinking about where his next destination should be. The remainder of Sophia's money seemed to burn a hole in his pocket.

Just as he stepped out of the station and was waiting to cross the road, the sound of Merlin's own name made him look up. At first, doing this made him reprimand himself. That was the one thing he should never do … but when he saw who it was, his face broke into a smile and he spread his arms to embrace his friend.

“Lance! What are you doing here?!”

**~ ~ ~**

Gwen's house was larger, and somewhat more homely than Arthur's current residence and there was something rather welcoming in the mess and clutter that covered Gwen's house. Gwen wasn't intentionally untidy, and sometimes she'd have a full clean up and for about a day and a half, the house would be spotless – but she just got lost in her work and when she did that, the place became about a foot deep in clutter; paper, pencils, drinks, food, anything really.

Arthur knocked, merely to let her know he had arrived, before stepping over the threshold and into the house. Gwen was in the kitchen part of the kitchen-lounge combined area, her dark, curly hair pinned up into a bun and her foot tapping to the rhythm of a song only she could hear. Arthur had to come right up behind her before she noticed him.

“Arthur! You came!” she exclaimed, abandoning the food she had been preparing and rushing over to the piano.

Gwen's piano was her pride and joy. It had been given to her by her grandfather and it seemed as if the instrument was never quiet. Whenever Arthur visited she was playing _something_.

“I finished it this morning,” she said, breathless with excitement, “I came round to find you and then I thought I should probably get something to eat … but now you're here that doesn't matter.”

She reached up on top of the piano and retrieved a large stack of paper with the music staves already printed and covered in notes, crossings out, and Gwen's scrawls and notes to herself.

“Sorry its so messy,” she said, “and I think its terrible – but I was jut so pleased to get it finished and the finale was a nightmare but … there you go, have a look for yourself.”

She handed the pile of paper over to Arthur who looked down the first page and then flipped through the rest.

“How long is this thing Gwen?” he asked incredulously.

“I'm not sure,” Gwen replied, scratching the back of her head uncertainly, “I haven't had time to play it through.”

“And I'm the first person you've shown it to?” Arthur asked.

Gwen nodded timidly.

Arthur felt somewhat honoured – he knew how much this meant to Gwen.

“Well who else was I going to show it to?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Arthur responded, “Lance maybe?” Lance was Gwen's close friend, and when Arthur said close he meant _unofficial boyfriend_. He lived in the house next door to Gwen and everyone who knew them had been waiting for them to get together for what felt like _years._

“Oh he's away, coming back today, but I wanted to show it to you, I knew you'd be honest with me.”

She looked so uncertain of herself that Arthur felt bad.

“Gwen, it looks amazing, and you can't believe how much it means to me that you showed it to me first,” he said honestly. “Play some for me?”

Gwen's face broke into one of her sunniest smiles and she almost snatched the music back off him.

“I'll need you to sing,” she said, sitting down at the piano and pulling the first few pages off the pile.

“You can sight read right?”

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Gwen I've been able to sight read for _ages_ ,” he said, walking over to stand behind her.

She elbowed him hard in the ribs. “No need to boast,” she said but the next second, the moment was lost as she arranged her music and got ready to play.

The tune started softly, trembling and unsure until it gathered strength and built up in a steady crescendo. Arthur could visualise an orchestra playing this, the violins building up the tune until the steady, long, base notes were brought in by the cellos and double-bases and the free, light melody on top – the flute. It was magical stuff.

Gwen had slow down for a moment and flicked him a glance. “This is where you come in,” she said, giving him his first note.

Arthur peered closely at the score, picked out his words and notes from among the scribbles and erased marks and began to sing.

 

_Long ago, I used to believe,_

_That dreams would always come true._

_Long before, I allowed myself,_

_To dream of a life with you._

 

_But then, the darkness came to play,_

_And brought me cold tales of reality._

_Back then, I always dreamed of a better day,_

_Until I learned, better days never come to me._

 

Gwen continued to play, pulling new sheets of music down from the pile as she did so and Arthur found himself somewhat captivated by the music and the words. The music was fast and flowing, strong and symphonic and it was all he could do not to be swept away in the breathless melody.

The vocal line was right at the top of Arthur's range at this point, but so powerful was Gwen's playing, that it didn't seem to matter.

 

_And so I see, what this world has given me,_

_A tale of a long cold road, with no light to guide the way._

_And now I know, that is was always meant to be,_

_That I'd end up lost, and always on my own._

 

The dynamics dropped away to very soft and Arthur saw he had rests for a page. But then Gwen stopped playing altogether and angrily thumped the piano.

“I knew it!” she said, “I knew it was terrible!”

“Wait, Gwen – Gwen! Stop!” Arthur grabbed the pages out of Gwen's hands that she had been about to tear in half and held them out of her reach.

“It's brilliant, honestly, its brilliant.” He said, noticing for the first time how he almost had tears in his eyes.

“No it's not and you know it's not and you're just saying it is to be nice,” Gwen responded sulkily.

“Gwen, you said you were showing it to me because you knew I'd be honest, and _honestly_ , I love it.” There was a moment where they both exchanged and angry stare-off before Gwen relaxed and held out her hand for the pages of music. Arthur reluctantly handed them back.

“Well I do need to do some work on it anyway,” Gwen replied, turning back to the piano, “I don't like the chord progression at bar 36 and that base line in the middle is disgusting.”

Arthur gave a derisive snort but let her get on with it.

“Can I go now?” he asked.

“Yes, and stop distracting me,” Gwen replied huffily.

Arthur gave a short brief laugh and gave Gwen quick hug.

“You are brilliant,” he said, “remember that.” She gave the smallest of smile before swatting him away.

“You need to work on your high notes,” she responded cheekily.

Arthur bashed her across the back of the head and then crept out, realising she was lost in her work again. He shut the door quietly behind him, realising he still had Gwen's music playing in his head.

**~ ~ ~**

Merlin pulled apart from the hug with one of his oldest friends and gave Lance a quizzical look.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“I'm going to catch a train,” Lance replied, gesturing at the station. “I should really be asking why _you're_ here …”

He gave his friend a half concerned, half hopeful look. “I never thought I'd see you again – not after Paris.”

“Yeah well, Paris was …” Merlin caught himself just in time to not start thinking about Paris too much, “Paris,” he finished lamely.

“I thought you were dead,” Lance admitted with a shrug.

“Good,” Merlin replied, possibly a beat too fast. He gave Lance an apologetic smile. “You know what I mean – it's better that way.”

Lance awkwardly look down at his shoes and once again, Merlin hated the fact he had the life he did.

He turned to walk away.

“You gonna just walk off like that?” Lance's voice was edged with such hurt that Merlin stopped.

“You know Lance, you _know_ why I can't stay,” he said, turning back to his friend.

**~**

_It had been 12 years ago, when they were both kids and Merlin and Lance had been playing out in the street. The neighbourhood where they had lived wasn't a busy one and cars rarely went past. They'd been cycling up and down the street, racing each other on their bikes. Lance was faster, he'd just got a new bike for his birthday, but Merlin kept up with him, head bent over his handlebars, his magic giving him a bit of help … just a bit. Well, what Lance didn't know wouldn't hurt him. But then there'd been the van – a squeal of tyres – Lance's scream of panic because there was nothing he could do to get out of the way – Merlin's magic had acted out of instinct – he'd thrown Lance off his bike, out of the way – he himself had got out of the way fast enough – Lance's bike had been mangled under the van's tyres … And when Merlin had turned around to see his friend, Lance had been looking at him as if he'd seen a ghost._

“ _Was that you?!” Lance yelled, still in shock._

“ _Was what me?” Merlin asked, at once on the defensive – his dad's warnings to never show_ anyone _his magic, ringing in his ears – he began to back away slightly towards his house._

“ _I wasn't going to get out of the way in time – I saw you … I saw … I don't know what I saw! What are you, like, Harry Potter?”_

_Merlin had been about to say something but the van driver was coming towards them, white as sheet and people in the street were attracted by the sound of Lance's screams._

_Lance's mum had come running and Merlin's parents had arrived on the scene not long after – Merlin's dad had looked furious and Merlin could see it in his eyes that he_ knew _what Merlin had done. There had been a talking-to that night._

_He hadn't seen Lance for the rest of the day until late that night he heard the sound of pebbles against his bedroom window. He'd gone to the glass to see Lance down below._

“ _You saved my life,” Lance said as soon as Merlin had opened the window._

“ _I …” Merlin didn't know what to say. He couldn't lie to his best friend._

“ _Can you show me more?” Lance had asked eagerly but his face had fallen when Merlin's father had appeared at the window._

“ _Go home,” he'd said firmly._

“ _I know,” Lance had said, “about Merlin.”_

_Balinor had closed his eyes with a sigh and a crease of pain had crossed his face._

“ _Kid,” he'd said, “you better come inside.”_

_They'd sat down, and talked, about Merlin, about magic, about what Lance could do to keep Merlin safe. And from that night on – Lance had been Merlin's closest and greatest friend._

**~**

“Your dad told me to keep you safe Merlin, he made me promise I'd look after you,” Lance said.

“Yeah, and things were different then!” Merlin exclaimed, “we were kids – all you had to do was keep quiet. He didn't mean risking you neck for me which is what this has turned into!”

“Oh right,” Lance retorted, “so Paris meant nothing?”

“Paris was a mistake – and anyway! Paris makes it worse. I bet they know about you now!”

Merlin raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye socket – a dull throbbing pain had risen up and he felt sick.

“Merlin? You OK?” Lance was by his side in an instant. The pain increased and Merlin doubled over.

“Right you're coming with me.” Merlin obeyed Lance's commands for the sole reason that he couldn't find his voice to object. His head was pounding as Lance lead him back into the station and sat him down on a chair outside another cafe. Lance was gone for moment and then he was back with a bottle of water and some food.

“Drink,” he instructed.

Merlin drank and momentarily felt the pain recede.

“I don't need this,” he objected grumpily.

“Merlin, you're looking like the living dead, so shut up and drink.”

Merlin took another gulp.

“You haven't been eating properly have you?” Lance's words were sharp but concerned.

“Stop mothering me Lance,” Merlin replied moodily.

“You're ill Merlin, face it, you can't go on like this. Let me help you, I'm heading up north back to my place, come with me.”

“Lance, I _can't_ -”

“Look, what is your problem with letting people help you?” Lance asked sharply but Merlin could tell he was more upset than angry.

Merlin took a long steady breath.

“I can't let people get near to me Lance, if I let people get close, if I let people in, you know what happens to those people? They end up dead. Like Will, like you almost in Paris …” Merlin's voice shook and died and a single tear ran down his cheek. “It's better for everyone if I stay away. That way, I keep people safe.”

Lance was quiet for a long time.

“And what about you? How are you being kept safe?”

Merlin snorted. “Come on Lance … you don't need to ask …”

“Yeah well,” Lance replied, “I promised your dad I'd keep you safe and I don't know what that meant to you but for me it meant giving up my life for you. It that's what I have to do. You're ill Merlin, you're not going to be able to keep _anyone_ safe if you carry on in the way you are.”

“I'm not ill, its just a headache that came on fast,” Merlin protested.

“Yeah right,” Lance replied, “you're thinner than I've ever seen you, you're paler than ever before and you're not your normal self. So, yeah, you are ill, and you need looking after. If only for a while. Come back to my place with me. Get some sleep, get some decent food and get it out of you head that you're better off without your friends around you because if you think that, I might as well leave right now.”

Merlin was at a loss for words. He took a few more gulps of the water to pass time and once he'd finished the bottle, he tossed it into a nearby bin.

“I guess you're right,” he conceded eventually.

He heard Lance's sigh of relief.

“Good,” he said, getting to his feet, “take this and I want to see you eating it on the train,” he said, handing Merlin the food, “and your backpack? Got that? Good. Man you need a new one of those …”

Merlin adjusted his bag self-consciously. He'd never get a new backpack. This was the same one he'd had since that day he'd first left his parents house. He'd never needed another and he never would. This backpack held his life.

“I'll even pay for your ticket,” Lance promised which elicited a smile form Merlin.

He got to his feet and they both made their way across the station.

“One day, I swear, one day of me complaining and asking for you to bring me food and you'll regret ever doing this,” Merlin said wryly.

Lance laughed. “Don't pretend you can't get food for yourself without even lifting a finger.” He gave Merlin a sideways glance. “It's good to see you again you know,” he added quietly.

Merlin looked at Lance and nodded his thanks and understanding. “You too.”

**~ ~ ~**

The next morning, Arthur found another note from Gwen on his front doormat.

_I guess you were sleeping so I left a note. Get round here as soon as you can! I've got an idea. :)_

Arthur tried to bite back his unease. Surely Gwen wouldn't try to get him into performing it? She knew he was trying to keep out of sight. But then again, this was Gwen …

He grabbed himself some breakfast on the way out of the house and made a mental note to tidy up the place sometime that week. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

When he arrived at Gwen's he could already hear the sound of the piano. She was playing something different to the day before but it had a similar melody line so Arthur guessed it was another part of the musical.

As he stepped inside he heard Gwen singing along to to music. Her voice was soft and gentle. Arthur felt shivers run down his spine.

“I'm here,” he called tentatively, not wanting to end the moment.

“Great!” she called back, pausing in her playing and appearing in the doorway to the kitchen-lounge. Her hair was loose today and her dark eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I've got those chords sorted and I need you to talk to me about performing this thing because you'd be ideal for David but I'm not sure for Michael and I've no idea for Adrienne …” she tailed off under the look she got from Arthur.

“Gwen, we've been through this before,” Arthur said, “I can't.”

Gwen's face fell.

“Low key remember? _Out_ of the spotlight.”

Gwen shrugged. “That's fine, I guess. I understand.”

Arthur closed his mouth and bit his lip. “Gwen …”

“No, its fine,” Gwen replied, “do you want to go through it still?”

“Of course!” Arthur replied, desperately trying to get Gwen to see …

“Fine, we can do one of the bits with David and Adrienne, I can sing Adrienne.”

She tossed her long curly mane over her shoulder and headed for the piano. Arthur followed, thinking that, for now, it might be better to say nothing.

Gwen sat down at the piano and arranged her music. Arthur leant over her shoulder and read the first few lines.

Gwen gave him his first note and they began.

 

( _ **Adrienne**_ _David_ )

 

_All this time, sister, I believed we had a chance._

_**But brother you lied from the start!** _

_Sister, I believed you had it in your heart to forgive past wrongs._

_**I did until I found you'd been tricking me all along.** _

 

The coldness in Gwen's tone shook Arthur somewhat but he reasoned she was just playing the part. The music was in a minor key but it still had the same power and 'magic' to it that the song from the previous day had had. The soft dynamics only added to the mood, increasing the tension and the cold, fierce, anger in the lyrics.

The music began to swell and rise along with the dynamics until Arthur felt like he was riding on a wave of music.

 

_Believe me, if I had known -_

_**Don't pretend! Don't claim innocence you do not have!** _

_Do you think I would have let this happen to you?_

_**You have always lied! How do I know what you say is true?** _

 

_Where did we go wrong? **What did I not do?**_

_What can I say?_ _**Why was I never good enough for you?**_

_How can I help? **Suddenly all was lost!**_

_Is there no other way? **A future that was bright is turned to dust.**_

 

The music faded to a piano solo and Arthur stood back, reading on in the score over Gwen's shoulder and then picking up the rest of the score and looking through it in more detail.

He caught himself looking at David's part in detail and working out how he would act in certain scenes.

He dropped the score back on top of the piano but he had scene Gwen looking.

He focused again and found his next line before beginning to sing again.

**~ ~ ~**

Merlin and Lance had arrived back at Lance's house late the previous night and Merlin had stumbled into Lance's spare room and collapsed in a heap on the bed. He'd not even moved until the next morning when Lance arrived in his room with a breakfast tray.

“Eat it all,” Lance instructed firmly.

“I'm gonna get fat!” Merlin protested but he laughed at the same time and accepted the tray, the smell of bacon tingling his senses.

“So what are we going to do?” he asked a moment later, his mouth half full of food.

“Wait till you get better,” Lance said, “and then, I don't know,” he shrugged, “we'll talk about it.”

Merlin could see it in Lance's eyes that Lance knew as well as Merlin did – that whatever happened, Merlin wouldn't stay for long, he _couldn't_.

“Eat up,” Lance said again, and he left the room.

Merlin moodily stabbed the bacon with his fork.

**~**

“Merlin! Are you still alive?” Lance called up the stairs about an hour later.

Merlin appeared form his room, ruffling wet hair with a towel. He'd made sure to scrub Sophia's number fully away.

“Your shower is great Lance – haven't felt so clean in ages,” he joked as he came down the stairs.

“Oh, you were in the shower? Sorry, I was working with my music so I couldn't hear. Good breakfast?”

“Good,” Merlin assured him.

“Right, well, I was gonna head next door and see my friend Gwen.”

Merlin noticed how Lance coloured slightly at the mention of Gwen's name.

“Oh is this _the_ Gwen?” Merlin asked. From the brief contact he'd had with Lance over the years, Gwen was something a little more than a friend.

“Yeah … maybe, you could meet her if you want?” Lance ducked his head but Merlin could see he was smiling.

“Sure, why not? Got nothing else to do,” Merlin said.

**~**

Lance knocked on the door of the house next to his, then pushed the door open and went inside.

“Won't Gwen mind?” Merlin asked, following Lance a little uncertainly into the house.

“Oh no, she's always lost in her music – you practically have to chuck a bucket of water over her to let her know you're there.” Lance replied, smiling.

Merlin could hear the piano in the next room and two people singing, one male, one female.

“Oh, that must be Arthur,” Lance said, “I was wondering when he'd end up here.”

Merlin couldn't guess the meaning of what Lance had said and so he just followed him through to the next room.

“Hi Gwen,” Lance called and the piano playing stopped abruptly.

The next second, a mane of dark hair was flying at Lance.

“You said you'd come round first thing!” Gwen scolded but she hugged Lance all the same, a bright smile on her face.

“I had a guest,” Lance replied, “Gwen, this is Merlin, he's a friend of mine.”

Gwen looked round, apparently not having seen Merlin when he entered the room.

“Oh hi,” she said, holding her hand out. Merlin shook it and smiled back.

“I've heard about you from Lance,” he said and she blushed.

“All good stuff I hope,” she laughed.

“Of course,” Lance said reproachfully.

“Lance, good to see you.” Another voice broke in on their conversation and Merlin looked up to see a blonde, blue eyed man approach Lance and pull him into a hug. Merlin guessed he was the man who had been singing and he could tell from his voice that he was good. His voice had that firm but strong tone which Merlin had learnt to associate with singers over the years. He walked with ease but had the posture of someone that was used to being out in public and whilst Merlin thought he recognised his face – he couldn't think where he might have seen this man before. All he knew was his name – Arthur.

“You're Merlin right?” Merlin jerked himself out of a momentary daydream and turned to face Arthur.

“Yeah, I'm Merlin,” he replied, holding his hand out to shake.

“Arthur Pendragon,” the man replied, and he took Merlin's hand and shook.

**~ ~ ~**

“Well Morgana, why have you come here?” Aglain asked, turning from the window to look at the young woman, curled up on the couch. She self-consciously tugged the sleeves of her cardigan down.

“I want the truth,” she said, “because I don't understand what's happening to me.”

Her dark hair framed her pale, oval face and her green eyes betrayed far more worry than she was showing.

“Why come to me?” Aglain asked, crossing the room to sit down on a high backed leather chair opposite her.

“No one else believed me,” Morgana replied softly.

“And you think I will?” Aglain asked, raising and eyebrow sceptically.

“I know you will,” Morgana replied, her green eyes suddenly filled with a commanding authority.

Aglain smiled.

“Tell me Morgana, what is it you like to do?”

Morgana looked at him quizzically before responding. “I like to sing.”

“You have something of a talent, form what I hear,” Aglain responded.

Morgana looked away from him. “It's not my only _talent_ ,” she responded, something that was in part fear, in part disgust filling her tone.

“Tell me more,” Aglain replied, sitting back in the chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about,” Morgana responded fiercely.

“Humour me,” Aglain responded.

Morgana began to speak, but then stopped herself. She looked at Alglain with such uncertainty but Aglain didn't respond. He needed her to admit it to herself.

“I … I've got magic,” she responded eventually.

Aglain gave one long, slow nod.

Morgana sat forward in her chair, desperate now. “Is that what it is?”

Aglain leaned forward, raising a finger to silence her.

“Tell me, what do you want to know?” he asked.

**~ ~ ~**


End file.
